Crawling Can Be Beautiful
by Breaktheskiess
Summary: The world thought they were incurable, that's why they were sent to the clinic. How do you trust liars, thieves and emotionally unstable addicts? You don't - but when you're one of them, you don't have much choice. Cannon & Non Cannon. AH.
1. Chapter I

**I don't own any of the Twilight characters represented in this story. Just havin' fun with Stephenie Meyer's fiction.**

My mother was a good looking woman. She married a good looking man.

They had a good looking daughter.

I wasn't allowed to suffer low self esteem days. I wasn't allowed to huddle up under a duvet with a warm hot chocolate and watch movies.

I was meant to cherish my beauty, brush my long gold hair, wash my face, pluck my eyebrows, moisturise, shave, run.

Run every day. 2 kilometres in the morning, 4 in the afternoon. 100 sit ups. 50 push ups.

I was meant to keep myself in top physical condition, finish at least one book every fortnight, maintain a B in every subject.

I was expected to maintain perfection.

I was expected to cherish my perfection, brush my perfection, wash my perfection, pluck my perfection, moisturise my perfection, shave my perfection, and then run to work off all the perfection that just wasn't perfect enough.

My father was a good looking man. He married a good looking woman.

They had a good looking daughter.

They had a good looking daughter with the whole package: an intellectual mind, money, college scholarships. A bright, bright future ahead of her.

Now, why was that good looking daughter speeding along in a stolen car, three hours past her curfew, with a History exam the following day?

I don't know.

You'd have to ask her.

Because tonight, I'm just Rose.

Rosalie Lilian Hale can go and get screwed.

* * *

I relish the sound of a glass window, shattering under a mangled flute.

I swirl around, and, in the same swing, I hear a light crunch as the flute flies through the drum kit, tearing cleanly through. Laughing to myself, counting the drum beats now. Just like the conductor always said.

"Try and match your forte with the rhythm."

Match this, yeah?

Slamming one of the three cheap, school-owned tubas to the ground. Caked in dust. Dust flies everywhere. Dry gurgling snap.

I am Edwards rising self-hate.

I love Fight Club. It makes my life seem less fucked. When I watch Fight Club, I can say to myself, "Well, you may have dead parents, but at least you don't have a manic alter-ego."

My parents were Elizabeth and Christopher. Ordinary names. Ordinary people.

They didn't have a rocky marriage, they weren't hopelessly lovey. They were just stupid and naive.

They underestimated the psychos that inhabit the bleeding streets of New York City and that's exactly what happened to them. They were left bleeding in the uninhabited streets of City New York.

Three days.

Three days it took to find them.

Like it matters.

I save my piste de résistance for last.

Piano, meet gas can. Fancy a threesome with lighter?

* * *

Two steps to the left, seven tiny skips to the right, turn swiftly so the nurse on call doesn't notice you loitering. Consider the vending machine. Glance around. Is she there? Go.

I breathed deeply. I was here on work experience, it was normal for me to be around here, what's the worry?

Like Heidi said, I have access to this shit.

She probably said other things, but, when she started kissing me I didn't notice.

Because, seriously, what are the odds? I'm a huge nerd, people don't talk to me. I don't go out, I study. And Heidi, one of the hottest girls in school, was interested. And I mean, I'm a smart guy, I can tell she's not using me. She dumped her boyfriend to ask me out. And we'd been going out for like, three weeks before she asked for the narcotics.

And anyway, it's for her mum.

I slipped into the supply cupboard. If I got caught, I could kiss my hopes of being a doctor goodbye. Just stuff a few bottles into your bag, Carlisle, and get the hell out.

* * *

I can feel the adrenaline buzzing in the back of my brain, a nagging, incesant chirp. It's not steady, but it's consistant, and it's screaming at me.

I can hear them all chanting. _One tequila, two tequila..._

"Bella! Beella!" Jessica, giggling, pointing at a pot plant that has mountains growing out of it and a huge nose. I gasp. "I know, right!? Look at it!"

I was looking.

_Three tequila, four..._

The room was spinning, but it had been spinning for a while now. There was a bottle of beer in my hand and I couldn't remember picking it up, and my hair was mussed. I stole a glance over towards the poor sucker downing the shots, egged on by the crowd.

_Five tequila, six tequila..._

My head was hurting. It was agonizing. It was screaming, it was pounding, it was belting out angry words and begging for mercy at the same time. I wanted to die, I wanted to sleep.

I remember what Phil said before I left the house tonight. "If you walk out that door, I wouldn't bother walking back through it."

Whatever, bastard.

I looked down. Someone had painted my shoes orange, and there were waterfalls springing out of them. The carpets were on fire but I didn't mind.

_Seven tequila...FLOOR!_

I giggled to myself as my cheek connected with the cold carpet. I kept on giggling until I vomited, and, when, the blood came, I laughed through that too.

**A/N: Hope you liked it. A couple of inspirations for this story, if you're interested, were Skins (the show) and Fight Club, obviously. And a couple of songs, 9 Crimes by Damien Rice, Hallalujah by John Cale and Chemistry of a Car Crash by Shiny Toy Guns. Thanks for reading :)**


	2. Chapter II

**A/N: Methinks I doth not owneth.**

Blood oozes from the side of your mouth, mum, but you're not bleeding. Your eyes are bubbling with tears, surrounded by a deep blue black, but you're not bruised. A smattering of cuts on your arms, your legs, your cheeks, mum, but you're okay. Cringing backwards into the wall, laboured breathing, but you're not frightened.

Red cheeks, anger flooding through, pulsating crimson against coffee brown. Bare your teeth, father - you're not angry.

Hissing words. "Failure, failure, failure." Blame it on her, father. Blame it on mum. Swing hand back, watch her stumble, watch her fall. Smirk to yourself, you're not sick.

Turn around, look at me. Expect my approval. Expect me to join. Expect me to hate her, too.

"You good-for-nothing _slut._"

Convince myself it's not happening. She's not bleeding, she's not bruised. She's okay, she's not frightened. he's not angry, he's not sick.

She's not a slut.

Look up into her eyes, reflections of your own.

"Did you really think that you could get off with some other asshole and have me not find out about it? Did you really think you'd get away with it, you slut?" Father hating mother. Mother cowers. Swing hand back, watch her stumble, watch her fall. No smirking this time, hand slams into cheek. Sound echoes throughout room. She pleads, she cries. She's not crying. She's not crying. Tears running down her face, but she's not crying. Mother looks at son. Son tries to look away. Don't make eye contact. Father follows mother's line of sight. Smirks at son.

Hell.

"Jacob, what do you think? What's your opinion?"

Throat closes up. "Nothing." I say. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Guilt. Oozing guilt, bubbling guilt, a smattering of guilt.

I'm feeling guilty, but I'm not at fault.

"Jacob, why don't you have some input? This is a family meeting."

Family meeting. Code. Code for _Smash the shit out of your wife and child._

"What's the matter, Jacob? I know what you do. I know that as soon as I walk out of this house, you'll rush to mummy's side. You'll tend to her bruises, you'll tend to her cuts. You'll promise you won't let me HURT her again. You're full of shit, son. Full of shit."

Look up from your lap where your fists are balled. Stare at him. Hold your glare. Think about the scars on your stomach, your back, your legs, your arms from broken bottles and sharp objects you've been shoved into, that have been thrown at you.

Glance at your mother, cowering in the corner, her eye black and her lip cut. Wet cheeks.

Don't lie to yourself. She's crying, she's bleeding, she's hurting. Inside, she's dying.

Do what any man would do in this situation. Faced with a drunken father and a broken mother.

Do what any good man would do.

Lunge.

* * *

"That's four D's, three C's, and - Alice. It isn't."

"Oh, I think you'll find it is."

"A _B?! _What, did you bang the professor?" my dad asked me, smirking.

I laughed lightly, prying my school report card out of his hands. "It was sewing. I'm great at sewing. And our teacher is a sixty-three year old woman with genital herpes."

He snorted loudly, grinning his famous grin. I really, really loved my dad. There were just certain things about him that were slightly unloveable. Like his tendancy to get caught up in gang freaking warfare. And then land himself in prison, which happened to be where I was now, talking to him. Outside on the dirty green, dead grass, surrounded by men in orange uniforms, all there because they broke the law and got caught.

"So...how is your mother?"

And his inability to master the art of subtlety.

"She's...she's good. Yeah, she's good."

"And James?" he asked, looking at me with a slightly different expression. It was almost sympathetic. It was almost pity.

"He's good." I murmured.

_"What the fuck is wrong with you!?" James screamed, shoving me back into the counter. I tried not to whimper; I tried not to scream. He bared down upon me, his yellowing teeth gritted and threatening. Running his hands down the side of my body, causing the bile to rise in the back of my throat. "Alice, girly, your mother's not home 'til ten."_

_"She might be home anytime - her hours, they change-"_

_"Sh, sh, sh. Hush, pet." he whispered lowly, before he crushed his mouth to mine in a fierce attack. I felt sick to my stomach, to my core. Tears burned behind my eyes as I felt the circulation in my hands go. I couldn't breathe, I wanted to die. I wanted to die. _

_"Stop - James, please!" I panted, disgust lacing my words. I wanted so badly to wipe my mouth, to spit the taste of him out of me. His hands were still on me; on my hip, on my chest. Suffocating me. _

_Slowly, his expression turned to anger. Furious, ferocious anger. His grip tightened, his hold became a squeeze that tinged my deep red arms with blue. I gasped with the pain, and his foul breath flooded my senses, his eyes level with mine. Full of a frightening determination. _

_"Do not get on my bad side, Alice." he hissed. All I could do was nod, agree, and let him do what we both knew he would do. Nothing I did, nothing I said would stop that. He was forceful. He knew what he wanted, and nothing I did or said would stop him from getting it. "You're hideous. You're fat. You're stupid, Alice. You're lucky to have me, I pay attention to you. I make you feel loved. Do not deny me."_

Dad stared at me for a while and I stared back. Because, really, we both knew. But what was talking about it going to do? He was stuck here. And I was stuck out there. I broke the gaze and looked down in my lap where my report card lay in my hands. My chubby, fat hands.

"Have you been eating?"

I looked up to see Dad, staring at me. Peering at me. Analysing me.

"Yes. I have." I said with one hundred percent honesty. He smiled in satisfaction, and I smiled back whole-heartedly, relieved over the fact that he never asked if I kept any of the food I consumed in my stomach very long. After about half an hour, it was usually littering the toilet bowl.

* * *

There were photoframes positively caked in dust. The pillows were a dissarray, but that may have been how she liked it. From the kitchen where she was attempting to cook, the smell of something burning. I hated it.

"Esme, dear?" I heard Ms. Louize call. I looked up from the photo I was dusting off; one of her and her late husband, Frederick. She was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a tea towel in her hand, smiling sadly. I'd seen that expression far too many times in the past two months, and I knew what always followed it. I didn't want to hold her gaze. Her pitying gaze. "I just wanted to say..."

"It's okay." I cut across her, eager to rid myself of any traces of this conversation before it had a chance to properly begin. My throat burned, just like it always did when anyone tried to touch on the subject. "Really, Ms. Louize. It's fine." I attempted a weak smile. Not that she would have seen it, under the head scarf I wore.

She sighed. "Well, it looks like you're doing a great job with the shelf there, dear. I'm thankful that you do this for me every week, Esme, I'd never get by without you."

I smiled lightly, trying out a laugh. It felt foreign and wrong on my lips, and it took all I had not to grimace. "It's my pleasure, Ms. Louize."

"How many times must I tell you, Esme, dear, to call me Irina?" she chuckled, turning back to the kitchen. Relief flooded through my veins at her disappearance, and I went back to my cleaning. I was almost finished anyway. This shelf was practically all that was left.

Ten minutes flew by so fast that it didn't even wave as it passed. I smiled weakly at Ms. Louize as she handed me my money. She gave me the same smile as before. And she opened her mouth. This time, I couldn't see a away to escape. Surely, the woman would be able to tell that this was something I didn't want to talk about.

"_Dear_, I know that most likely, this is something you don't want to think about, let alone talk about with the woman you clean house for." You got that right. "But, I would like you to know, that if you need to talk..." I had to bite back a sigh at her proposal 'to talk'. I really, really wasn't interested.

"Thank you, Ms. Louize." I said lightly, and got the hell out of there, clutching my money in my hands. I didn't want to think, didn't want to feel. I wanted it all to go away. I had spent two months contemplating my life - my past, my present, my future. What I had, what I didn't have, what I wanted, what I didn't want. Chrissy, my psychiatrist, told me this was normal. She said that what had happened would never disappear, but in time, it would fade. It would ebb, slowly, away. Become a light scar dancing under the skin when the light hit it just right. I couldn't wait that long. I wanted it gone now.

I had an appointment with her right now. That was my schedule for this afternoon. Clean up Ms. Louize's flat, and head into the city to see Chrissie.

I got to the bus stop, and thought.

And thought.

And thought.

And decided, to break my schedule.

Sure, I didn't really want to die.

But I couldn't think of anything, _anything, _that made me want to live.

* * *

I've never been the most responsible of fellows, but I, Emmett Cullen, could tell when I was off my fucking face.

We were stumbling around, being ass holes. I was clutching a beer in one hand, and the phone number of some chick I'd just got it on with in the other. The train station was bright and my eyes watered. Marcus and his girlfriend Didyme had disappeared ages ago when we were back at Tanya's place. Man, that chick throws a pretty sweet bash.

She'd be great to get with, if she wasn't so slutty. And clingy, my god.

Alec and Caius were yelling about something or other, stopping in front of innocent passers by, questioning over their brand of cat food, things of that sort. They got out of there as quick as they bloody could, shooting terrified, bewildered glances back at our group. I took a swig of my beer and laughed boomingly.

"GUYS! Whudda we even dooooooing? Like, sheriously, I love you aaall, but I'm boooored!" I slurred, taking another long drink. Everyone laughed, and then suddenly, everyone stopped.

In front of us were two people. A guy, and a chick. I didn't recognize the dude. But the chick, I did know.

"_Charlotte?_" Peter hissed, stepping forward. "What the hell are you doing with him?" We all stepped forward with Peter, I heard Felix crack his knuckles menacingly.

"Peter, what are you doing here?" Charlotte said, panicked. I could see fear spasming over the face off the ass she was with. He glanced up into my face and I met his gaze with an intimidating glare. This was not on.

Peter gritted his teeth. "What's your name, kid?"

The guy swallowed loudly. "D-Demetri."

We all moved forward, converging, and within a few seconds, both Charlotte and 'D-Demetri' were surrounded. Demetri whimpered. Charlotte sighed shakily.

"Guys...Peter, this isn't funny." she said, her eyes darting around.

"What's funny?" Peter said lowly, his voice dripping with malice. "I drop everything for you, Charlotte. I buy you crap, I've been to jail for three weeks for you. And you cat around my back like some slag. How the hell is that anyway to repay me?"

I saw her shaking. I saw Demetri breathing heavily. Hyperventilating. About to pass out. I laughed loudly. Peter stepped in and in one swift movement had Demetri's jaw in his hand.

"Do you know," Peter breathed into his face. "What I do, with ass holes like you?"

Demetri shook his head, his eyes wide.

"Well, we're about to find out, aren't we?"

* * *

I was a thief.

And a genius one at that.

I walked along the streets, pleasing the old ladies with my polite Texan accent, complimenting them on their lovely floral patterned shirts. Don't you look LOVELY today, ma'am. Is that a new hair-do, miss? Why, tell me you aren't married, ma'am - please.

They blush, wave away my compliments, grin like I'm crazy, when inside they're goin' stir crazy. They walk away happy, 'til they get into the store, up to the cash register with their trollies, and their money ain't there no more. S'not my fault they ain't more careful with their purses, leaving 'em practically poking out of their Gucci Prada handbags.

And it's not like they even need all that crap.

My little sister, Jean, stands by my side, looking cute and poor. The old ladies think I'm begging, they give us a dollar. Jean is awful good at compliments, the past few weeks she's stood with me and told the old women with the blue hair that they look darlin'. But today, she tries out the hard stuff.

I stop a small old couple, talk of the weather, pay them both compliments. Things are going great, 'til the old man stiffens. He turns to Jean, glares.

"Little miss, did you just take something out of my wife's handbag?"

I see the panic flash through Jean's eyes, I see her heart slamming into her ribcage.

"No, sir."

He narrows his eyes. "What's that you got behind your back?"

Jean brings her hands out from behind her back and holds them up to the man to inspect. I know that the purse is tucked down the back of her pants and pray to God the old man dun' check there.

He turns to his little old wife. "Dorris, check your hand bag."

"Oh, really, now, Geoff-"

"Check it."

Seven seconds of agony, standing there, strained, as he watches us. She's rummaging through her small bag, and we can all tell that she's realised we have it.

"Oh, I can't seem to find it...I must have left it at home." she says lightly, looking up at her husband. He doesn't buy it. Not for a second. But that's how long we get, standing there in awkward silence.

And then he turns to little Jean, looking hell-bent, and I scream, "RUN, JEANIE, RUN!"

We take off at a sprint, I hear the old man shouting about our stealin', we dun' care, we keep on running. I'm panting, but I make sure I run just slow enough so that Jean is always in front of me. Her knuckles are white as she holds onto the purse tightly, we run. We run until our breath don't come out from our lungs anymore and we're cold from the heat whipping us so damn hard. We run for a full three minutes, round a corner. I don't look back. I'm just about ready to announce we stop, when -

BAM!

Something hard and solid slams into me from behind, dragging me to the ground, sucking the wind out me. I scramble to move, but someone is pressing me down to the ground, muttering something about arrest. I don't look up, I know it's a police officer. I hear Jeanie screaming, I hear her sob for me.

"Jasper! Jasper, help me! I didn' mean no harm!"

I move, one small, quick movement, and the small handgun I keep in my left sock is in my hand, pointed at the officer's head. I take it off the safety.

"Move." I command.

**A/N: Well that was harder than I expected. Thank you for the reviews, guys, they make me very happy :) **


	3. Chapter III

**I have lost & rewritten this chapter so many times it is just no longer funny. I don't own Twilight, jaa?**

I am Aro Volturi and for twenty years I have been a psychiatrist. Only seven of those years have I devoted myself to angsty teenagers and their heartbreaking issues.

Forks Freedom Clinic was a freaking ball and chain, and more often than not, it trapped the people that were locked inside. Nobody wanted to be here. I was the jail keeper for the newest prisoners that had arrived in today; for their entire stay they would be my responsibility. I would have two group sessions with them per week, and 2 individual counselling timeslots with each of them. More if necessary. And, I'd read their files. For some of them, extra counselling would definitely be neccessary.

I sighed and stepped forward, smiling radiantly at the misfits, lined up and seated. I'd seen their files, I'd read their files. I knew why they were here but I didn't know what led them to be here. I had pictures, and I stood in front of them, matching the names to the faces.

Isabella Swan, girl on the left end, slim, nervous, mahogany hair. Her face was red.

Next to her, Carlisle Cullen. Pale and blonde.

Then there was the buff guy, Emmett McCarty. Esme Platt, her face completely hidden from view by the head scarf she'd been wearing for months. Rosalie Hale, the beautiful blonde, stuck up and better than everyone else. Mary Alice Brandon, the tiny pixie. Edward Masen, the pale, bronze haired emo kid. Jasper Whitlock, the blonde guy sitting up straight, chewing a piece of gum lazily. And the Native looking, built Jacob Black.

My new patients.

I strode to the front of the room, stood in front of the blank black board and picked up the rickety, wooden chair that stood there, lone. Swirling around, swerving, I did a few turns and then grasped the edge of the chair in my hands and slammed it into the blackboard where it collided with a sickening crunch.

Several of them screamed; others cussed. One of them - Esme, the girl in the scarf - fell off her chair, gasping. The tanned Jacob stood immediately and gently hoisted her back into her seat.

"My name is Aro. I am your therapist. I am your counsellor. I am not your dad, not your big brother. You can tell me whatever you like, it's all confidential. But keep one thing in mind: if you tell me something that I feel needs action taken against it, I will never, ever hesitate to do so. Every one of you sitting in this room - in this entire clinic, though I suppose we could call it a centre or a half assed attempt at a school - needs to be here. Of course, none of you want to be here. But you all need to be here. That's why you've been sent here. Neat, eh? My point is this: get in the way of someone else when they're trying to better their circumstances, and I will boot you out of here without a second thought. You need to be here, but if you don't acknowlege that fact, it's just going to be sad for you."

They were all looking at me incredulously. I smiled and continued. "Bad things have happened to all of you. No one deserves bad things to happen to them. Some of you have done bad things to other people, and you have all done bad things to yourselves. I am not Jesus, I can't cure you. I can't prescribe you some antibiotics and then badaboom, you're better. You're here until I say you can leave. When I see fit for you to be off on your merry way, you can be off on your merry way. But, folks," I grinned, staring at the shocked faces in the room. "That's not going to happen for a _very _long time."

Swiftly, I turned to the desk in the corner and picked up a stack of folders. Nine, to be precise. I stepped forward and handed them to each individual. "In these folders you will find everything you need to navigate your way through campus life. Your school timetables, your room key, your ID card, a special homework/counselling session planner, yada yada yada, etc. Oh, and I almost forgot," I added in an excited whisper, reaching into a random - Rosalie Hale's - folder, pulling out a little, cylindrical instrument and clicking the top up and down repeatedly. "Your complementary pen."

They were all silent, staring in bewilderment. Good start.

"Today is what we like to call your 'settle in day'. Find your room, unpack, get to the resource room and pick up your text books, go through your timetable, look around the centre, mingle, and all that. Get to know eachother if you like, it's going to be inevitable. Tomorrow we start the full on, gripping group sessions!" I clapped my hands in mock excitement, and then sighed and turned back to the blackboard. I pulled it downwards in a rough motion and a new slide appeared, names written over it. "You will see your name on this board. There is a line, connecting your name to another name. That's your roomie. Have fun, be good, and make sure to eat a healthy serving of fruit."

And with that final note, I nodded to them and walked out the door. Ah, blissful new kids.

* * *

**ROOM ALLOCATIONS:**

**THE FOLLOWING ARRANGEMENTS ARE FINAL AND NON-NEGOTIABLE. I DO NOT CARE HOW LIKE, TOTALLY UNFASHIONABLE THE CHICK YOU'RE STUCK WITH IS, OR IF THE DUDE YOU'RE CRASHIN' WITH JUST DOESN'T DIG YOU - YOU ARE STUCK WITH EACHOTHER.**

**ROSALIE HALE - ESME PLATT**

**MARY BRANDON - ISABELLA SWAN**

**EMMETT MCCARTY - JASPER WHITLOCK**

**EDWARD MASEN - CARLISLE CULLEN - JACOB BLACK**

**Ps. Hey guys, look, I managed to swing it so that your names looked a bit like a pyramid. Cool, huh?**

This guy was an arsing nut case. And I mean that in the worst way possible. I was going to be a doctor, I was going to help people, cure the sick. And here I was - stuck in a centre of the mad and depressed. Edward and Jacob? Someone, shoot me. Now.

Everyone so far has been either criminal or emo. I'm stuck with a half and half deal, and this psychologist freak expects me to _bond with them? _I mean, sure, they could be misunderstood and stuff, like me, but I can see a tattoo on the Jacob guy's bicep and the Edward dude has like, freaking bloodshot eyes and eerily bony fingers. I am every song by A Day To Remember.

Depressed and unoptimistic.

And I mean, there's not even the hope of a nice girl. The Rosalie chick is REALLY hot, but she turns her nose up at every single freaking thing. And the Mary lass is a little on the small side. I don't like the look of Bella at all, especially with her "I'm here because I got too high" comment, or whatever. And I don't even want to go too close toward Esme, she looks like someone who's seriously screwed up. Like when Aro slammed the thing into the whiteboard, she nearly had a heart attack.

Dear God, I have been good to you, believed in you as my saviour for my entire freaking life.

Save me, 'cos I'm being emotionally crucified.

- Carlisle

* * *

I can't breathe. I'm suffocating, I'm drowning, I'm flailing under any and every type of death that stops your lungs pumping air. My blood is cold and my saliva is boiling hot - my mouth burns. I can feel every second of the heartbeat that fluttered and stopped in my stomach, every second. Every second it's there. Sometimes, it slips into the back of my mind. But then it will claw it's way through my memories, scorch everything that's every been fine, and it will flash painfully. I won't think of anything else.

When he slammed the chair into the whiteboard, I heard glass shattering. I heard the deafening crack that rang through my ears when my leg snapped. Agony shot through me, and my knees weakened and sent me toppling downwards. Rough, warm hands brang me back up - I didn't want to be touched, but I was too scared to flinch.

I am a fire stuck in a storm.

"Um, you're Esme, right?"

She's blonde and her face is perfect, unharmed. Her name is Rosalie Hale. Yes, I am Esme. You're Miss HardDoneBy, right?

I nod. False relief floods her face.

"Oh, thank God." she says, and I can hear the lie lacing her tone. "I'm so glad you're my roommate."

_Oh, heaven help me. I'm so fucked that you're my roommate. _

She links her arm through mine, and it's all I can do not to pull away. She chatters on as we walk up to the dorms.

"You know, that's a really, really pretty headscarf. I saw one just like it once, I was going to buy it, but I didn't have enough."

_That is the ugliest freaking thing I have ever seen in my life. I saw one just like it once, I was going to buy it so I could burn it, but I decided not to waste my money._

"So, you're like, religious?"

_God, I hope you don't wake me up in the morning with your weirdo Hindu prayers._

I shake my head and smile at her lightly, a smile she doesn't see. "No, I'm not religious. Are you?"

Confusion spasms across her features. "Er, no."

"Well, that's good, at least we're on the same page. What was our room number, again?"

* * *

"You play guitar, Emmett?" Jasper asked me in his Texan accent. I shook my head no, grinning. I loved this kid already.

We'd totally bonded over our love of accoustic rock and hot women.

"Well, lookie, I've been playin' since I can remember. Didn' you say you played drums?"

"Yeah, since I was in 8th grade."

He laughed lightly, strumming chords. "We could make a band, eh?"

I smiled. "That we could, Jasper."

* * *

Bella was my ideal roommate. She kept to herself, lay on her bed, eyes closed, flexing her jaw. I could tell she was angry constantly, which was why I stayed away.

On my way here, I'd eaten a few sandwhiches, and by now I could feel them manifesting in my stomach. Soon, they'd be fat, and then the fat woulds stretch my body, marks would appear, celulite would dance across my skin and I'd not be able to move.

So, Alice, what do you do?

Stumble into the bathroom and retch quietly into the toilet, that's what you do.

**Made it this far? Congratulations. Hope you liked it - inspirations for this chapter are How To Save A Life by The Fray, Where We Went Wrong by The Hush Sound and Caring Is Creepy by The Shins. 3**


	4. Chapter IV

**I don't own Twilight. **

_Tell me that you're alright!  
__Yeah, everything is alright.  
__Oh, please tell me that you're alright!  
__Everything is alright._

_- Motion City Soundtrack_

* * *

**Edward POV**

People can write a feeling down on a piece of paper. You can draw an angry face, blot it in red. You can circle a face in blue, trace the tears staining the cheeks. Clenching the pen tightly in your fist, you can crush it to the page with a force so strong that it splits the surface.

Some people can lock these feelings in the back of their throats. They don't want anyone to know about their issues, their problems, their pasts. People say, "What's wrong?" and they smile their light, false smiles and say that everything is alright.

I was never one of these people. I couldn't grasp the concept of hiding your feelings - I had to scream them out loud and make sure that everyone within a fifty mile radius understood that I was pissed.

"Welcome to your first group session," Aro smiled. It was a little freakin' creepy. "So, how did we all settle in?"

He left the smile plastered to his face and beamed around at all of us expectantly. I wouldn't have been surprised to hear crickets.

"Bella!" he boomed. All of our heads shot up and we stared at the brown haired girl with the red face. You could see her exasperation compressing her features. "How was your first night? You shared with Alice, how was it?"

"Erm, it was…satisfactory?" she scrunched up her face in confusion. She was kind of cute.

"Satisfactory? Do you want to elaborate?"

"…No."

Sighing from Aro's end.

Bella - 1 Aro - 0

"Well, I can see what's going to happen if I ask you all how your first nights were. I take it you all had a satisfactory sleep, were content with your dreams and really don't mind the weather today? What easy-going creatures you all must be. How very intriguing is it, that we would find ourselves meeting due to your attitudes being anything but _easy-going._" Aro said, his tone straining at the end as he attempted to keep the venom from lacing itself through.

"We're going to play a game. We'll stay in the circular formation we're set out in, and we go from person to person, and you will each introduce yourselves. I want you to try and include your name, your favourite colour, your favourite movie, your favourite band, your favourite television program, your hobby, the name of your best friend, and your favourite season."

_What the hell? _

Alice - I think her name was - raised her hand timidly. That's putting it mildly. The girl was shaking.

Aro nodded at her in encouragement to speak.

"But, I mean, I thought we'd kind of be saying why we're here and all that. What use is a few trivial facts?" she asked in her tiny, feminine voice.

Our counsellor grinned like a Cheshire cat in heat. "But then your first impressions and judgements will be made on the most negative things in everyone's personality. Wouldn't you rather find out what you have in common, first?"

In a warped and weird way, it all made sense.

"Edward," he nodded towards me. "You can go first."

Saw that bloody coming.

"Right. My name is Edward," I said, sucking in a breath. "My favourite colour is brown, and I like the movie Fight Club. My favourite band is…well, I like Mozart and Debussy. But Modest Mouse are pretty cool. I don't watch TV, I like to read, I don't have a best friend, and I hate every season except Autumn, which is mildly tolerable."

_All eyes on Edward Masen, baby._

Aro clapped and laughed his fake, fake laugh. "Fantastic, Edward. Esme?" he gestured to the girl next to me, her head wrapped in a scarf.

"Oh," she said in an extremely quiet voice. I found myself glancing over at the people on the other side of the circle; how could they possibly hear this girl?

"Well, I am Esme and I don't like colours. I like French movies and the band Metric. I don't really do well with best friends and I like to draw. I like Spring." Her hands were shaking a little as she wrung them together. If Aro noticed, he didn't show it. He just smiled his radiant smile and continued to be a prick.

The girl next to Esme was Rosalie and she liked the colour red and the movie Valentines day. Her best friend was named Gianna and she didn't really listen to music. She said her hobby was fixing things, mechanics.

Then Jasper filled us in on how he liked Paul Dempsey and the Radioheads, and how his hobby was his guitar, and how his favourite movie was Little Miss Sunshine and his favourite show was _Doctor Who._

Bella went next, and, being the extraordinarily social being that she is, told us that she had no friends, hobbies, music tastes, favourite shows or movies or seasons, and that if anyone asked her what her favoured colour was she'd give them purple eyes and a red nose.

After her Emmett told us about his hobbies and whatnot.

"Oh, right. Um, I like ACDC. And footy. I don't really notice seasons, apart from the whole 'Wear a jumper, no, wear shorts' thing. My best mate is called Peter and my favourite show is M*A*S*H._" _

Carlisle took it upon himself to let us all know that he loved to study, study, study! He said he wanted to be a doctor and white was his favourite colour. When I tried to interject and tell him, no, white was not a colour, he told me to go and comb my hair. I sank back into my seat. The dude was an insult machine. He said he liked quiet music and didn't have time for a lot of TV or movies, but he always tried to catch _The Big Bang Theory._

"I'm Alice and I love the colour blue." Alice smiled weakly, hugging herself. "Fashion is my hobby, I like to sew. My favourite artist is Sarah Blasko and I really like the old Alice in Wonderland movie. My best friend's name is Victoria, but we don't talk anymore.

"I really, really like Winter."

Silence fell for a little while after that. Aro said nothing, he just stood and surveyed us.

Then he broke it. "Jacob, I believe you are lucky last."

Jacob was already _really _grating on my nerves. Carlisle and I were up at a freaking criminal hour this morning (or night - it was still dark) when Jacob's alarm went off and he stumbled noisily around our room in search of his Nikes, just so he could go for his freaking run.

"Oh, um, okay. Well, I'm kind of shamefully good at crochet and boxing, and I like screamo music. Parkway Drive. My favourite colour is orange and my favourite movie is….Bridge To Terebithia…" he mumbled the last part, looking down in embarrassment. I saw Bella chuckle and Rosalie roll her eyes. Alice was busy looking at her hands. Us guys were all laughing our asses off.

"Did you cry, Jacob?" Esme asked spontaneously, turning her head to him. He looked a bit surprised by the direct question, no one had really addressed anyone personally so far but out of all of us Esme was definitely in a battle with Alice for most shy. Bella and Rose didn't really talk either, but they just seemed like unsociable bitches.

"Oh, um…" Jacob said, biting his lip, smiling nervously. "Yeah."

Esme laughed and said, "In what parts?" Even though I couldn't see any part of her face other than just her eyes, I could tell she was smiling.

Jacob's eyes lit up, probably at getting attention. I don't know what the deal was about, what's he going to do when she takes off the tablecloth and she's a fugmo?

So those two lapsed into conversation, and that was when I noticed Aro was gone.

What a great counsellor.

"Hey, Edward," Rosalie said. I looked over at her. "I reckon Autumn is mildly tolerable, too."

_Edward Masen, you sly dawg. _

* * *

There are things you don't know about me.

Things no one does.

Four months ago, my parents were brutally murdered and dumped in an alley in the harsh New York Streets. Someone threw them behind a dumpster. I didn't notice they were gone; I didn't go home a lot. I stayed out and I crashed where I wanted. I got high and I got drunk and I came home once every few days.

I can't remember what the last thing I said to them was; I don't remember how she smelt that morning, what he was wearing - I don't even remember where they were going. I did see them, though. The morning before. Mum asked me to be home more. Be a proper son. Dad told me that my grades weren't up to standards.

I told him to piss off, sweared and screamed. It wasn't our worst argument every by any means - but it wasn't a field of roses. I walked out the door. I might have said goodbye, I might not have.

I got in my shitty car and asked God to kill my father, shoot him dead.

Two weeks later, I considered talking to the grief counsellor I was forced into seeing about this. I decided against it.

The police were polite, they asked where I was that day, told me that it was mandatory. I wasn't a suspect. I said that I got in my car and headed for school and sat in the car park for ages. People vouched and said they'd seen me parked there. This was a regular thing for me to do. I was stressed.

I drove off around midday, said screw the classes. I went over to my mates and chilled at his empty place. Messed up his room, he was pissed. Police were glad though, they said it counted as evidence showing I wasn't at the scene of the crime.

They called me two days after hauling me in for questioning and told me that there was nothing connecting me to their deaths. I thanked them and went back to practising my piano.

My mothers piano.

"_Edward, you have such a gift for the piano forte. You play so beautifully. Just one song. One, please, sweetheart!" Mum laughed, trying to pull me over to the grand piano. Their last Christmas._

_I'd snuck back in, through my bedroom window, eager not to be seen and uncovered. I'd gone out and gotten drunk last night. Christmas celebration._

"_No, mum, I don't want to." I said angrily, yanking out of her grasp. No one else noticed, grandma was talking about some amazing sponge cake and everyone was listening keenly. But not my mother. Her face fell. It didn't stumble, it fell. And I never saw it claw it's way up to what it was again._

Almost one month ago, I failed my piano exam and was denied entry to the Competitive School Band.

I pleaded, I begged. I practised day in, day out. I did my homework.

They said no.

So their band room had to go.

I ripped it apart, screamed it broken, burnt it out. I roasted the piano that they wouldn't let me touch.

The principal understood, he wasn't angry. He said that, legally, I would have to pay for the damages. In the end though, he pitched in and paid half. The music teacher suggested I donate my piano to the school to save money. I threw a chair at the wall. They had to suspend me, but they let me back in.

I couldn't handle it. I couldn't keep up in class, my concentration fizzled. I asked one more time to be allowed entry into the band. They had to deny me, again.

The next day I swaggered into school, drunk and nothing. I slammed a hammer into the blackboard and it rebounded and hit a girl in the stomach. She needed stitches.

And that was when they all realised I was out of control.

They sent me to the Forks Freedom Clinic. Mr Johnston, the principal, told me he was sorry.

"_Come and see me when you get out, okay, Edward?"_

I nodded and shook his hand. I didn't hate him.

I had to sign my name on the will for my house. I inherited my fathers money. My mothers piano and my fathers home. But it wasn't a home. It was a shell and I didn't want it.

I didn't want to be stuck in a hole, filled to the brim with kids like me, needy and misunderstood. I wanted to be the only one in the limelight.

"Hey, Edward, do you have Science first up tomorrow?" Carlisle asked me from his bed on the other side of the room, cracking my reverie open.

I didn't look at him or answer him. I kept my eyes closed. Let him think I was asleep, I was never really awake anyway.

**

* * *

**

Let me know if you liked it, hey?


	5. Chapter V

**I do not own the Light of Twi, nor do I own Twilight.**

**Warning: Implied rape/abuse.**

_You were a child who was made of glass,_

_You carried a black heart passed down from your dad._

_If somebody loved you, they'd tell you by now;_

_We all turn away when you're down._

- The Hush Sound

**Alice**

**Still searching for some sort of Wonderland…**

It was drilled into me from a young age that life was truly hard-knock. My father wasn't an especially fantastic one, landing himself in jail with a sentence of thirty five years. I still see him, I visit him at least once a month.

My mother doesn't keep photos of him around. There's no secret, tattered snap I keep concealed in under my bed. No hidden lock of hair I stash in a rusted tin box that I pull out when life gives me lemons and there's nothing around whatsoever that could enable me to be able to squeeze them.

I was never allowed lemonade. The sugars send me wild, hyperactive.

I had it a few times, though. Once mixed with alcohol at a Halloween party when someone spiked the drink, and another couple of times as a child, just after I learned how to effectively lie to my friends' mothers.

When I was little, my mother only ever read me the one bedtime story. _Alice In Wonderland. _I would clap every night and ache for tomorrow, when I would hear more about the caterpillars and the painted flowers. I tried to paint the grass, one day, tried to paint it blue. Mum screamed until she was hoarse.

I thought that maybe, because we shared a name, I could be Alice. Spending my days searching for rabbit holes, abandoned pocket watches, mad hatters. Constantly comparing my life to that of a fairytale.

The regular childhood phase of boy crazy never struck me very hard. Many of my friends lost themselves totally over immature boys with no manners or any care for anything or anyone. They talked about how in love they were, drew pictures of each other with the boys they believed they'd fallen for.

It was innocent enough.

Throughout my whole life, I've only ever liked one boy. Truly, deeply, actually liked them. His name was Laurent Christiano and he was a little French boy who gave me a daisy one day and said _"belle jeune fille petite."_

My mother was a hard working woman who led a life that was honest and good. She was not short tempered, nor was she exceptionally lenient. She worked from 8:30 in the morning to 5 in the afternoon, and for the first few years of my schooling life I spent my afternoons at the houses of friends, or after-school care. I even went through a phase where I joined choir.

She dated a smattering of men; I met none of them. She would come home smelling a different smell, and sometimes it was cigarette smoke, sometimes it was an unfamiliar cologne, and sometimes it was other smells a child shouldn't recognise.

I had heard about James a few times from eavesdropping mum on the phone. Glimpsed his long, curvy hair as he made his way back to his Jeep when I was spying out my window.

And then one day we were eating dinner and there was a knock on the door. Mum smiled at me, tapped her nose and stood. I watched her as she smoothed her skirt, glimpsed at herself in the mirror and fixed her hair. It was at that exact moment that I noticed the extra cup and plate at the table. Enter James.

I didn't trust him - but I didn't trust anyone. It wasn't a concept I ever fully understood. The way I saw it - I didn't need to. There were no secrets I possessed I'd ever need to entrust to anyone, anyway.

But I liked James. My first impression of him was a positive one.

He cooked us dinner when he stayed over, and it took me months to realise that he wasn't staying over repeatedly; he had moved in and half of my mothers wardrobe was his. His smell lingered in the bathroom in the hall, on the couch, in the kitchen. It lingered so long that soon enough it wasn't a lingering scent; it was a mixture in the air that was _there._

By the time I was sixteen, I was torn. Not just emotionally or mentally, but physically. James's fingernails darted across my skin and left scratches. When he slapped me, the tingle of the burn was the red. But the beatings were never bad, and they weren't a consistent occurrence.

Every so often, however, when he just so happened to snap, he would smash a vase, or move his fist so close to my mother's face that the two would collide. Flesh upon flesh, brute force maiming the weak.

Sometimes the blow's would swing my way, though. My mother was never home when this happened, but she knew. She saw the bruises and said nothing.

I knew that I was meant to tell someone what was happening, but I didn't see the necessity. My mother didn't want to leave him, and I didn't want to leave her.

So I clutched the secret to my chest and for once in my life I had been presented with a reason not to trust anyone. My father asked for descriptions of James when I went to visit him at the State Prison. I said he was a good cook who always sang. I said he and mum were happy. And when my father asked if I was happy, I'd say, "Well, I'm not _un_happy."

He bellowed out his Italian melodies when he ripped apart our ordinary lives. Hummed as he shattered the vases.

Everything was bearable, manageable. Until the day he cornered me in the bathroom.

Locked the door. Mum not home until hours later. Towel ripped away. Wall slamming back. Plaster upon skin. Skin upon skin. Thoughts not comprehendible.

Resist, resist, resist -

Muffled gasps, pain thumping through body. Scratching at your face with his nails, not caring not caring not caring. Clawing at your legs, not caring not caring not caring.

_Who's been painting my roses red?_

Never forget the look on his face. Forceful, forceful, painful - no, don't look there!

_Who dares to taint -_

Such carelessness.

Agony, shooting through you, shooting down your arms, shooting to your toes, shooting shooting stars.

_With vulgar paint - _

Tossed to the ground, like a rag doll. Sneering, teeth bared. Incomprehensible, play it back in your head… Never forget the look on his face as he pushes you against the wall and says the words that carve themselves into your brain.

_The royal flower bed - _

Grabs your hand and crushes it with his, recites the words you've heard so many times from your mothers mouth, says them with such malice -

_For painting my roses red - _

Gets them wrong, gets them wrong, says it not right, doesn't get it right -

"Someone's going to lose his head!"

Says the Queen, grinning like the Cheshire Cat at little, helpless Alice, losing her mind like the hatter.

* * *

Aro was sitting in the middle of the circle of our chairs, like he always did. "Today, we're going to share our experiences with each other. Who wants to go first?"

No one spoke, silence engulfed the room.

Aro sighed in resignation. "Okay, fine. Edward, you're first, kiddo."

Edward, all bronze hair and pale skin looked up. I'd heard some kids saying he cut himself, he never wore anything but long sleeved shirts. "I'm here because my parents died." he murmured quickly, glimpsing over next to him where Carlisle sat.

The blonde guy looked up at Aro in confirmation that it was his turn, before saying "I got caught hi-jacking a hospital."

Emmett, who was on the other side of the circle, whistled lowly, chuckling.

"Bella?" Aro prompted.

She sighed and looked up from her nails. "My mother sent me here 'cos I'm a drunk mess. Alice is here because she throws up her food. Edward is here because he trashed a band room, and Carlisle didn't hi-jack a hospital, he got caught stealing a massive drug supply from a closet. Stop sugar coating shit, it still smells rank."

I glared at her, feeling betrayed. One week ago, she'd found me on my knees in front of a toilet seat. Going red, she turned rapidly and exited the room, and we pretended that the incident didn't happen.

Aro said nothing against Bella's statement, and instead pointed to me, even though my problems had been shouted out to the world already.

"Like Bella said…"

"This is not Bella's story, this is Alice's right now. Why are you here?"

"Because I throw up my food."

Esme, on the other side of me, cleared her throat lightly after Aro indicated towards her. She was obviously uncomfortable. "I-I-" she stammered, bringing her hands up to clutch her head scarf. "I just had a few -" abruptly, she clutched her stomach protectively. Within seconds though, her hands shot off her abdomen as if they'd been burned. "I don't actually know why I'm here." she said, breathing hard.

"I'm just here because I stole a car." Rosalie said, putting her hands up in defence, smirking. "Emmett?"

"I got drunk and…beat up some friends."

"D'they deserve it?" Jasper asked. I felt my gut clench at the sound of his voice.

Emmett hesitated. "No. They really didn't."

"Are they alright?" Jacob asked, sounding concerned. The same gut clenching feeling that overwhelmed me before swept over me again.

"I have not got any idea." Emmett whispered, putting his head in his hands. Rosalie rubbed a hand on his back, and I noticed Edward's eyes watching her hand move, darting back and forth between her face and Emmett's. The sight made me shiver.

"I threatened to shoot some guy after I stole a purse." Jasper laughed, trying to ease the tension. "Jacob, why'd you get sent here?"

"Oh, I sort of…beat up this guy."

"Like Emmett?" Esme asked in her tiny voice.

"No, not really. This guy deserved it." Jacob said passionately, his fists clenched at his sides. Esme stiffened.

"No one deserves to be hit."

* * *

_Dear Alice,_

_James and I are going good. I hope you are, too. You haven't written back or called me yet - I know they only allow one a week, but I'd love for you to phone sometime. _

_We both miss you, Alice. Your father misses your visits, he's been writing. I'm sorry, Alice. I know you resent me for sending you to this school, but in the long run, honey, I promise you, it will help you. You need to get some help for these eating problems. You're a beautiful girl with a beautiful soul, I just wish you'd see that. _

_Kisses,_

_Mum _

* * *

_Dearest Al, _

_Missing your visits eternally, and wishing more than ever that I had the intellectual capacity or the attention span to write long letters. I don't though, so for that I apologise._

_Although, it may also be due to the fact that nothing much happens in jail, and you're lucky if you have the state of the tuna salad to talk about. Are tuna jokes no longer funny? I made one the other day and got no laughter._

_Enclosed is a little thing I found on the web, thought you might like it. I know you have at least a thousand copies of the darned book, but the cover art was so beautiful that I knew you'd appreciate it and kill me if I didn't buy it for you. Your mother told me that you left all of your copies at home, so I thought that maybe you'd like this one. _

_I love you, Alice_

_xxx Dad _

* * *

Music is beautiful, and it's the same always. The notes won't change. Words will fade over time, but music notes will never alter themselves. They wouldn't dare - if music notes were changed, the world would be in uproar, and quickly, society and economy would crumble.

Jasper doesn't change.

He sings and he's like a beacon. Of something I don't recognize, but I'd like to. He sings about pretty girls and plain things and doesn't talk about dance floors and boomin' beats. He talks about real stuff, he doesn't avoid subjects. He talks, he doesn't speak.

Throughout my life, I've only ever liked two boys. One was Laurent, with the daisy and the French.

One was Jasper, with the guitar and the Texan accent.

Sometimes, though, when I'm lying awake, trying to sleep, I see other faces swimming around in my consciousness, and then I don't sleep because all night I wonder why I'm thinking about Jacob Black.

**A/N: God, I hope it made sense. I put the Point Of View at the top just to make things a whole lot easier. Thank you for all your lovely reviews, guys, especially .95, who was utterly wondrous. Reviews make me happy :)**


	6. Chapter VI

_That night he caged her,_

_Bruised and broke her._

_He struggled closer -_

_Then he stole her._

_Violet wrists and then her ankles;_

_Silent pain._

Meg & Dia

* * *

**Esme**

Once, a long time ago, my father compared me to a crystal glass.

"So fragile," he chuckled, ruffling my hair. The way he uttered it made it seem as if it were a good thing, as if being fragile was a positive trait I should treasure.

And then the day _he_ said it, as I lay panting on the floor, my dress stained ruby. And _he_ repeated the exact same words my father had so many years before, and it no longer seemed complimentary.

"So fragile," he sneered, delivering a harsh kick to my swelled abdomen. I remember the way his lip curled upwards cruelly. I remember the way his figure was distorted through the tears clouding my eyelids. I remember the way my stomach felt as I touched it, and it felt…lumpy.

As he grasped my wrists and pulled me up - only to push me up against the wall and repeat everything all over again - I found myself wishing that I really was a crystal glass. Because if I were, by that point in time I would have already shattered.

* * *

"Okay, pretend you're a boat." Aro's voice floated through the room, invading the dull buzz of silence.

"A boat?" Emmett's confused voice rose.

"Seems to be what he said, idiot," Rosalie's snide hiss came from near by. I heard someone, probably Jasper, shuffle close to me. It was a small room.

"Silence, guys. And your eyes are meant to be _closed, _Alice. Remember to stay lying on the ground, and don't fall asleep." Aro called. I heard Emmet's wistful sigh and felt someone's foot collide with my leg.

"Crap, who did I just kick?" I'd never realised, but Carlisle had a light British accent. It was almost endearing.

"Me," I replied in my tiny voice.

"Oh, sorry, Ella."

_Esme. _It's _Esme. _The angry voice in the back of my head cried, eager to jump to my own defence. How pitiful.

"Her name's Esme, you dick," someone on the other side of the room snarled. My eyes snapped open and darted around the room, eventually landing on Jacob, who was smiling over at me. A blush rose in my cheeks and I closed my eyes once more.

Carlisle replied, laughing, "Jeez, calm down, asshole."

"GUYS! You're meant to be channelling your auras and shit! Stay silent, you little pricks!" Bella's voice came, loud and angry from next to me. I felt myself cringe.

"Yeah, some of us are trying to connect with our spirits and stuff." Edward's clipped, brisk tone.

"Woah, sorry, homo." Emmett chuckled. "Would you like a moist towellette as well, Eddy?"

Edward growled.

"Guys, SILENCE." Aro's bellow, coming all the way from the corner of the room he'd claimed as his own when we entered the tiny Media Room. "Bella's right - you're meant to be channelling calmness and serenity, attempting to achieve a purpose. If you don't want to do that, you can bugger off."

And no one spoke.

* * *

The tennis court was pretty. The Forks Institute had a swimming pool, too. And a huge oval. It was, on the outside, a nice place.

I'd claimed the tennis court as my own, preferring to sit out there amongst chilly, hollow trees than inside with cold, empty people. Sometimes, when the breeze was just right, and there was no one around, I'd unwind the scarf from where it twined around my head, and let the wind look at me.

It felt good, because the wind didn't fear my face like everyone else did. The wind kissed and hugged my features and didn't judge, because that is it's way.

Once, I sat outside on my lawn with a boy in a breeze just like this. He was just a boy. He still is, no matter how large his muscles are, or how deep his voice has become. He will always be just a silly little boy.

He set up a little picnic for the two of us, we were only eleven and I was taken aback by the gesture. That was the day I first kissed anyone. He poured me a glass of juice into a pretty little pink plastic cup he'd spent all of his money on and then he moved forward quickly and his lips met mine easily.

"Esme, do you like me?" he asked me, toying with bits of shredded grass.

"Yes, Charles," I said, smiling in the way that I used to smile. "Yes, I like you very much."

He kissed me again and it was still only a little kiss, but I can remember wondering to myself if his lips were meant to press down so hard.

That night my lips were sore.

* * *

"Esme, how are you getting along with your peers?" Aro asked, one eyebrow raised.

"It's all fine," I replied, staring intently at my hands.

"How do you feel about Rosalie? Are the two of you friendly?"

"Yes." I lied smoothly. Rosalie detested me, though she was exceptional at hiding it.

Aro sighed and leant forward, and I automatically leaned backwards. "Esme, I think it's time to take off the scarf."

"No." I hissed, a reflex. My throat was suddenly sore. I could feel my heart clawing it's way up, bile rising…

"Esme, surely it's not so -"

"You don't know." I whispered, tears digging into my vision. "You don't know. I won't take it off."

"Esme, I want you to." he said gently, moving his hand forward. It was an innocent movement. Innocent enough, Aro was no pervert. But that was all I saw now. Perverts, cheats, liars, violent angry -

He had moved his hand forward to rest it on my arm, to comfort me.

But I didn't interpret it that way and a scream crawled out of my voice box, fluttering up my throat and out of my mouth, into the wide open air. It wasn't a squeal or a light yell; it was a shriek. A chilling shriek that shocked even me, but panic was vibrating my senses and my sight was shaking. I flinched and moved back, jumping from my seat and falling backwards onto the ground.

My head collided harshly with the floor and I heard a rough voice ask Aro what was going on, then another voice and then another, all inquiring after me.

And then I stopped.

There was a blackness to the world and then there was nothing.

There was no colour but I didn't mind and I could only remember that _this _was how it had felt before. When I had sat in my bathtub, sticky blood and dried tears coating my legs and my arms and my cheeks as I had dug the razor deep into my skin and gasped at the pain and shook at the agony and told myself that I had to keep going because I couldn't turn back now and then -

Stop.

Are you alright?

Someone should get her an icepack.

Black.

Red.

No.

_Yes._

Quickly.

Why don't we try mouth to mouth?

Terror.

Gripping.

Why?

Why? Why?

Quickly,

Get the scarf off.

Without meaning to, my hands shot upwards. They collided with something, and a sharp exclamation of pain sounded. My eyes opened and the bright light invaded my sight painfully.

"Glad you're okay," Jacob Black grinned down at me, unbearably close.

For a moment, panic flooded through me as I felt around for my headscarf. But it was still wrapped tightly around my face.

It was my guard.

I pushed Jacob off me with as much strength as I could muster, muttered my thanks and apologies to Aro and the school nurse, who Jacob had been talking to in the next room, and ran from the room.

I don't like him.

I hate Jacob.

I hate him.

* * *

**Alice**

I think I might like Jacob.

* * *

**Emmett**

Rosalie's a fit catch. Reckon she'd go on a date with me if I asked nicely.

* * *

**Edward**

I think it's time I asked Rosalie out on a date.

* * *

**Carlisle**

Everyone here is so vile.

* * *

**Jasper**

Alice sure is pretty...

* * *

**Rosalie**

Why should I even pretend that I care what any of them think? Carlisle has really, really nice hair though.

* * *

**Jacob**

I wish she'd just take off the head scarf and talk to me.

* * *

**Bella**

Stupid motherfuckers. They're all such idiotic, conformist pricks. Pretending that they hate eachother, pretending that they like eachother. None of them are admitting any of the shit they've done. I'd gladly admit to anything I'd done, if any of them would properly ask me. But no, they're all hell-bent on remaining pure little assing angels.

They need the shit knocked into them, because everyone of them is a lying piece of filfth who brought about their own hard shit.

But Jasper has a really, really nice singing voice. I'll give him that.

* * *

A/N: It's been a while, I know I shouldn't have kept you waiting...but I'm here now.  
_It's Britney, bitch._

I'm really sorry that I just stopped, guys, forgive me please! ;) I hope it's okay. Don't fret about pairings and such, I have big plans in the works, but they're all just testing the waters. And they're all teenagers - so they're bound to be confused about their feelings. If you think I'm moving too fast with the "I like so and so" part, I will say it again - they are teenagers.


	7. Muchas Apology, Darlings!

Oh my sweet word, guys, you cannot even imagine how deeply apologetic I am for neglecting this story. I don't even have the excuse of "I have other stories" to use, because this is my only one. Basically there are just an array of differentiating contributing factors which add up to form the reason for which I have not updated this story, but they are all so pathetic that I shall not even bother detailing them to you. The point is, both Breaking Dawn Part One and re-reading this fan fiction have inspired me to take it up again. Well, when I say take it up, I mean write another chapter. (At least!) I'm sure you guys have all forgotten this story, and I won't blame you, because it's honestly been like, a year, but I'd like to keep going with it. I feel my writing style may have evolved, because when I read this it felt like a strangers words. I can't remember where I was travelling with this story, but I have ideas and things and I'm going to set to work writing it now so it should be up very, very soon. Maybe in a few hours, maybe in a few days. No less than that though, I promise! xx


End file.
